Okay, so we’re working our way through towards the changing of the clocks.
The days will get longer and lighter and everything will feel… like it’s not holding its breath anymore. It was one of my favourite things when I was younger and I still love it now: walking to the shop in the evening.
Yeah. My needs are few.
If I can look at the clock, see that it’s only half-seven, and then take a casual stroll up the massive hill towards the convenience store and its endless supply of staples (milk, Tunnock’s caramel wafers and cloudy cider). A brief chat, nothing serious and then, I’ll just saunter back, a warm breeze in my face, the sky a sort of school-tie-blue, and come home to a wicker chair waiting on my porch.
Perhaps a book, sitting on top of a waiting pint glass, preventing entry to a million flying insects that would desecrate the inside of the glass with the remnants of whatever they’ve landed on earlier in the day.
A book as bouncer. And the night stays warm until just after nine and the book can be read until then.